Please Climb That Mountain
by metalchild
Summary: He envisioned her bushy hair being even bushier, rising from her head like a brown bear leering at the world. Her soot covered face scowled at him, twisting into a familiar glower.
1. Human Hosepipes

**AN: All characters are JK's, not mine, only the plot belongs to me. The title is a random phrase thought up by a friend. By the way, metalchild loves reviews! Here we go…**

**Please Climb That Mountain**

**By: metalchild**

Hermione's throat closed up as she spied the light blond head. The hurt came rushing back at her like a tsunami, threatening to drown her in waves of pain and sorrow. A tight wad of bitterness surrounded her heart, sealing itself into a black ball of hatred. Vines of anger twisted their way around her chest and squeezed, making it hard for her to breathe. Tears gathered at the corner of her eyes as she fought to keep her feelings in check. She resisted the urge to conjure a porcelain vase to hurl at his pretty, blond head. Preferably a hard, china porcelain vase that would shatter and rain his silver head with white dust, ruining his perfect hair. Hermione wanted to rain the worst curses she knew on him, forcing him to feel some of the pain he had inflicted on her. She wanted him to experience the terrible ache in her throat, caused by endless crying the past few nights. She wanted him to feel the awful hurt he'd caused her. The bullet buried in her heart would never heal. When removed it would leave an ugly gaping hole.

Hermione stood at the entrance of the Great Hall, blinking back her tears. She summoned her resolve and stepped into the Hall, with a rigid back and stiffened body. Her tense posture was noticed by the Gryffindors, who called out concerned questions. She nodded tersely and sat down at her usual spot between Ron and Harry.

Ron, as usual, was stuffing his face with food. Seeing her ashen face and judging from her stiff walk down the Gryffindor table, Harry knew something was wrong.

He gently asked her, "Are you okay?"

That simple question was enough to push her to the edge. Eyes brimming with tears, she shook her head violently, causing her bushy hair to flop about in her face.

Voice wobbling, she beseeched, "Stop questioning, all right? I'm fine."

Harry, and Ron, who'd looked up from his food, nodded in unison with wide eyes. They seldom saw her crying, and hence, were quick to obey, lest the waterworks _really_ start. Hermione imperceptibly wiped the tears from her eyes and grabbed the ladle of the dish sitting in front of her and loaded a mountain of mashed potato onto her plate. Moving onto the next dish, she scooped a large portion of roast chicken onto her plate. And she continued piling food onto her plate, until it resembled a misshapen volcano, with mashed potato at the bottom, and yellow pudding at the peak. It even had sticky gravy running down the sides of the volcano, like lava.

The volcano was so huge, it could rival Ron's usual portion of food. In fact, it could beat Ron's usual intake of food hands down. And that's saying _something_. Ron and Harry's eyes widened further as they watched her shovel the large amount of food down her throat. Ron started to ask her about the extraordinarily large amount of food, but was quickly shushed by Harry. Ron could be rather untactful sometimes, and Hermione was rather _fragile _now. It would be best not to agitate her any further, to prevent any… _unfortunate tearing_. With vivid detail, both boys recalled the incident in fourth year, when Hermione had cried because they were friends again. Privately, both Harry and Ron agreed that women were like Niagara Falls, always gushing water. Honestly, they could act like human hosepipes!

Ron had a sudden vision of Hermione levitating above a burning house, her immense volume of tears dousing the fire, hissing gray smoke rising from the blackened house. Out of nowhere, he thought of her bushy hair. He envisioned her bushy hair being even bushier, rising from her head like a brown bear leering at the world. Her soot covered face scowled at him, twisting into a familiar glower. Another thought struck him; if she cried so much, she'd become dehydrated and shrivel up, like a prune. Her skin would become wrinkly and dried out, like the folds of a prune. At that thought, Ron couldn't help but let out a little giggle.

At that sound, Hermione's head snapped up from her food and she threw a murderous glare at Ron through red rimmed eyes. "Are you laughing at me, Ronald?" she asked crisply, a trace of the old Hermione. Even with a snotty nose and red eyes she managed to look remotely scary. There was a trace of Professor McGonagall in her narrowed eyes. A slightly manic glint in her eyes that said that if Ron couldn't give her a proper explanation, he'd end up in detention for the rest of the week. And it was only Monday!

Ron looked to Harry for help. Harry shrugged his shoulders helplessly. Ron was acutely aware that Hermione wielded a sharp knife in her right fist. He eyed the knife warily, slightly nervous. A light sheen of perspiration broke out on his forehead. Light danced on the blade of the knife, emphasizing the smooth shiny metal. Merlin, even the _knife _was going against him! What was the world coming to?

A jab in his back from Harry brought his senses back into perspective. This was Hermione, for the love of Merlin! Hermione wouldn't do anything remotely close to rule breaking. She had to guard her perfect, untainted reputation. Stabbing Ron with the knife or committing any acts of violence would fall in the category of rule breaking, wouldn't it?

Merlin's balls! Why on earth was he treating Hermione like a loony? Hermione was his best friend, his perfectly sane, estrogen overloaded, mood swing prone, bookish, bushy haired best friend. Even though she wasn't blessed with the most magnificent looks around, she was smart, and she was a loyal friend. And even though she was slightly mad about her books, she was certified sane.

These traitorous thoughts invaded Ron's head as guilt washed over him. He shouldn't be doubting Hermione's sanity! Hermione was as sane as him or Harry. She was just a bit upset now. That didn't make her a patient for the loony bin, he reasoned.

He now leaned forward, saying gently, "Hermione, me and Harry know that you're upset now. We won't ask why, but we're there for you, no matter what." He craned his neck past Hermione to look at Harry, who was egging him on with vicious nods. Encouraged by the nods, Ron continued, "We're your friends, you can tell us anything."

Upon hearing these words, Hermione's face crumpled. In a flash, her annoyed face gave way a tear stained, red nosed one. Tears found their way down her face rapidly. One after another they dripped off her chin and plopped onto her lap. Harry and Ron watched on with forbid fascination, counting the drops that slid off her chin and landed in her lap. This carried on for a few minutes, before Hermione jumped up abruptly, grabbed her bag, and climbed over the bench they sat on.

"See you in the Common Room later," she choked out, her voice full of tears.

Harry and Ron stared at one another in bewildered silence, unsure of how to react to the situation. Hermione's sudden exit left them bemused and confused.

Suddenly, Ron breaks the silence. "So how many tears drops did you manage to count?"

ooo

As Hermione fled the Great Hall, unbeknownst to her, a pair of sharp gray eyes follows her journey out.


	2. Buckets of Mud

**AN: The usual disclaimer; characters don't belong to me. Oh and Dumbly's not dead. This is AU to HBP. Thanks to the four people who reviewed my other fic, View from Heaven. Thanks for adding View from Heaven as a favourite story too! (: On with the story!**

**Chapter Two: Buckets of Mud**

The heavy oaken doors closed behind Hermione, nearly catching on her long bushy hair. She whipped her hair out just in time. Certain doors of Hogwarts were spelled to magically open and close after a person entered or exited, and the doors of the Great Hall was one of these doors. Unfortunately, it had no sense of timing, for it would swing shut almost immediately after the person had stepped through the doors. Of course, it was quite convenient for couples escaping for a secret tryst but rather regrettable for people who liked to dawdle and leisurely stroll through doors. Quite a number of girls had had their long hair caught in the doors. Students who were eating at the Hall would gawk at the trapped person, and occasionally, a particularly mean person would shout and point at the victim. An excruciatingly embarrassing experience, if you ask me.

Thankfully Hermione escaped unscathed. As she proceeded towards the Gryffindor Tower, hot tears burned her eyelids again, as she recalled the incident that caused her to act like a human hosepipe. Just two hours before, she'd been tormented by Ferret Boy and his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione had been in the library doing Snape's horrendously difficult essay, when the two thugs had sidled up to her, smirking and whispering the dreaded word, "Mudblood". Her cheeks had flushed in anger at that nasty word. Hermione had ripped her wand from her pocket and, in a harsh whisper, threatened to "hex their big backsides to Hell if they didn't scram". Jabbing her wand into their chests for emphasis, she'd lectured them on the use of foul words. In a whisper, of course. The two baboons had looked at her blankly and ignored her. Instead, they conjured up a large bucket of mud. Befuddled, Hermione watched them with a suspicious eye. In a flash, before she could react, they grabbed her books and papers and tossed them into the bucket, saying, "Mudbloods belong with mud, and so do their possessions."

Horrified, Hermione had shrieked at them at the top of her lungs, momentarily forgetting that she was in the library. At that moment, Draco Malfoy appeared, with his trademark smirk plastered firmly in place.

"Well well well, what have we got here?"

Hermione had glared at him, and seethed, "Your darlings here threw my books into a bucket of mud. And-"

She was cut off by a reedy voice, "What is going on? I heard someone yelling. Who is it? Own up!"

Hermione had flushed from both embarrassment and rage. Her reputation was ruined, thanks to two bloody gorillas! She would be banned, banned from her most favourite place in the whole of Hogwarts! This was terrible.

She squeaked, "It was me. But that's because Crabbe and Goyle threw my stuff into a bucket of mud."

Madam Pince had glared at the four of them with her beady eyes, and snapped, "Detention for you two," pointing to Crabbe and Goyle, "and no more screaming for you," she told Hermione sternly. And with an impressive flurry of robes, she'd left the four students there. It was Hermione's turn to smirk. Draco had caught the triumphant light in her eyes, and the smirk that twisted her face. Annoyed at Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity (honestly, attacking her in the library!) and incensed by Hermione's apparent victory from this battle, Draco furiously spat a barrage of insults at her, hitting on her most sensitive points.

"You're just a worthless Mudblood," he'd hissed venomously. "A prudish, disgusting, filthy Mudblood. So what if you have good grades? Your blood is tainted, like the dirty soil; you're not worthy to be here at Hogwarts. Go back to your Muggles; you're contaminating the air here. No one will miss you anyway; you're about as attractive as the gum on the bottom of my shoe. You belong with _filth_, just remember that." And he turned and left.

Those words had hurt terribly. Draco had hit right on target- emphasizing on her plain looks, and once again, her blood. Hermione had stood rooted to the spot, overcome with hurt. She could barely believe that someone could be so malevolent, deliberately causing such pain to fellow human being. Perhaps her blood wasn't as _pure _as his, but no matter what, she was still a human being, with rights! Even House Elves had rights! Well, technically they didn't, but she was going to fight for their rights.

Hermione had gathered her books and belongings slowly, cast a cleansing spell on her them and trudged out of the library, her entire body throbbing with leftover anger and hurt. She made her way up to the Astronomy Tower to be alone. Once there, she dropped her possessions on the ground with a crash and leaned heavily against the flagged stone wall. There, she'd thought long and hard about the reasons why Draco Malfoy hated her like the plague. Spiteful, spitting, hurtful words that cut like a blade, torturing the flesh. It was like a fiery fire licking at her insides, causing her to feel a terrible, burning hurt. His words rang in her ears, haunting her like a _wretched_ ghost. She just couldn't comprehend why Draco Malfoy disliked her so immensely. Was she _that_ detestable? Why couldn't Draco Malfoy see past her heritage and see the person that lay beneath it? For that matter, why couldn't _anyone_ see further than her perfect grades? Everyone saw her as The Bookworm, the person to cheat off tests, the future Professor McGonagall. No one saw her as a girl; even Ron and Harry saw her as some sort of asexual being! Bitter thoughts flooded Hermione, causing tears to well up in her eyes, as she sat on the stone cold floor for the next two hours. When the bell had rung for dinner, she'd gotten up, shivering and aching all over. Lips trembling, close to tears, she'd sat down at the dinner table, and ran off halfway through.

Now, reaching the Fat Lady, Hermione was certain of one thing: She _hated_ Draco Malfoy. She hated him with a white hot vengeance, a burning fiery blaze of hatred. She wanted to stab him with a knife and push it in so deep it would slice through his flesh and bone. She wanted to take a dagger and slice his flesh off, bit by bit and make _curry_ with it. Yes, that was the extent of her anger. By nature Hermione wasn't a violent person, but she would make an exception for Malfoy. To be honest, she wasn't certain why she even cared. Malfoy was her nemesis; it was natural for him to hate her and vice versa. Shaking herself mentally, she told herself to be strong. Normally she would not let such a silly thing faze her. Hermione had always been of a strong character. Alas, there are always times when the strongest of men break down. Hermione, having suffered years of insults and taunts, was bound to break down one day. It was sort of natural for her to cry, for girls are normally sensitive creatures, no matter what kind of image they portrayed.

ooo

Hermione muttered the password to the Fat Lady in a hoarse voice and climbed through the hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's concerned questions about her red eyed appearance. Once through the hole, she walked over to the plump, squishy armchairs near the fire. She threw herself onto the chair heavily. It squeaked a tiny protest. Hermione surveyed the red and gold theme that adorned the Common Room. Fire crackled merrily in the grate, its warm embers giving out a pleasant heat. The flagged stone floor was covered with a scarlet carpet. At the far end, several battered wooden tables were pushed against the wall. Usually the younger Gryffindors would do their homework on that table, while the older ones took the better ones in front of the fire. Curtains covered the large windows that looked out to the Quidditch pitch. A gentle autumn breeze filled the room, causing the scarlet curtains to billow. Circular stairs led to the boys' and girls' dormitories. The dormitories were large, airy rooms with four poster beds. Crimson and gold bed sheets covered the beds. Thick, plush carpets lay on the cold stone floor, to protect the students' feet from cold winter mornings.

As students started to pour into the Common Room, Hermione stood up regrettably, for she was getting comfortable. She slowly made her way up to the dormitories, for she wanted to avoid any unnecessary questions from her fellow Gryffindors. As Head Girl, she did have her own room. A privilege, Dumbledore had said, his moustache twitching. The memory of that brought a faint smile to her face. She was avoiding the Head's Room because the Head Boy was none other than Draco Malfoy. Yes, the detestable, racist, blond haired, grey eyed Draco Malfoy. For the eight thousand, nine hundred and seventy third time, Hermione cursed the fact that Draco Malfoy was the Head Boy. It was awful, the past one week with him as Head Boy. He'd done all the usual duties, that was true, but it was still terrible having Malfoy as Head Boy. The thought of having to organize events with him was enough to make her want to shoot herself in the head. Well, seven years of perfect grades had earned her this place; she wasn't going to give it up so easily. Perhaps she would shoot Malfoy instead, she thought.

Pushing open the door of the dormitories, Hermione was greeted by the familiar sight of four poster beds. She walked to the only unoccupied one, drew the curtains around her, undressed and slipped under the covers. The cool sheets settled around her as her mind slowed down and began to switch off. Suddenly a thought struck her like a two ton train. She remembered that she hadn't completed the Potions essay that she was doing before Crabbe and Goyle attacked her. She sat up in bed in mild horror, contemplating whether she should get out of bed to complete it. However, her body screamed in protest. Her body ached all over; her throat was still smarting from the crying, her eyes felt puffy and swollen, and her entire body was just exhausted from the day's events.

Hermione eased her tired body back onto the soft mattress. I'll do it tomorrow, she told herself. Her conscience, however, would not let the matter go. It tossed and turned the issue of the homework, saying things like 'procrastination is the first sign of laziness' and 'do it today, you lazybones!' It reminded her eerily of the homework diary she had bought for Harry and Ron for Christmas in their first year. She ignored her conscience and proceeded to try and get some rest.

As her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing slowed, and dreams came to visit her. That night, her dreams were mingled with homework diaries, buckets of mud, and a certain loathsome silver eyed boy.

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